Insanity
by TheGentlemanLivingInTheShadows
Summary: Forgive me for my sins.


**Trigger Warning!**

**This story has graphical mentions of blood, gore, murder, suicide and substance abuse. If this offends you, please don't continue ! And please understand that this is simply a work of fiction, nobody got harmed in the making of this story (well maybe me, I clearly went too far this time**_**. I am so sorry**_**). **

**Enjoy! (You probably won't, I can't write for shit)**

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><p>One.<p>

_Five._

_Twelve._

_**Fifteen.**_

**Twenty.**

**Fifty.**

Litres upon litres of warm sticky crimson liquid splattered to the rough concrete below, bathing the streets in a sinister red glaze. Endless piles of broken bodies and mangled flesh from blood splattered corpses increased in numbers. The adrenaline rush that pulsed through burning veins that was so achingly_ delightful_ that it should be a crime in itself; that was far more addictive than nicotine, alcohol or any of the illegal substances that the desperate weak willed people craved forbiddingly. That surging feeling that pours out of your core, washes over you as realise that someone else's fragile existence rests in your very palms; whether you are merciful and gently keep their precious light lit in the world, or you could use that hand to very slowly crush and drain away their life energy to put their soul to rest. Their haunting expression as they notice the shiny glint of steel as you grasp it in a white knuckled grip by the handle and slowly, patronisingly, take it out of your pocket. The way their faces sink, colour draining from them like water down a plug hole as you muffle the gut wrenching screeches that fall from their dry trembling lips. Their betrayed filled orbs meet your cold scathing ones as they desperately try to plead for their lives just only using their emotions to justify their self-worth. You just watch as their life force is drained away, no noises escape the cowardly man that hides behind the paper white mask. A man that they had at one point or another trusted enough with their lives….

…..Oh God, will it ever stop? Will it ever end?

Cry caved in on himself, tugging his blood soaked knees to his chest as he curled his baggy jumper sleeves around the course ripped fabric of his demin jeans. Hot salty tears fell from his clear emerald orbs onto his smudged red tinted cheeks in a waterfall of emotion that was completely concealed behind the white blank ceramic mask that veiled his face from everyone's inquisitive eyes. Soft, tiny whimpers escaped his dry quivering lips.

With a shaky sigh that tumbled from his parched throat and a hard dry swallow that forced his orbs to fall back behind their delicate protective lids as more clear salty liquid to seep through his copper lashes. Trembling pale crimson stained fingers carefully picked up the circular hand mirror that laid on the grot infested tiled bathroom floor beside is pale shuddering form. What he saw in the reflective glass in front of him made him made him choke on his own anguish sobs. The snowy white poker face of the mask is what greeted him on the other side of the glass. Only this time, unlike any other nights, it was coated in crimson blood that had started to clot hours beforehand and arrange of cracks that weaved thin wobbly paths to the centre of the right side. _**Where his scar would be**__. _He couldn't stop the little sniffle noises as they escaped his suddenly rosy nose as well as the milk green mucus that dripped on the inside of the ceramic.

His could feel the scorching insanity that throbbed through his body like a virus through a computer's hard ware. _**No**_, he thought wretchedly, clutching the little circular mirror in a grip that made the tips of his slender trembling fingers bleach an almost ghostly white, _**it is more like a leech imbedded in his brain sucking every last drop of sanity out of him**__. _

Cry tore his emerald red puffy eyed glare away from his own masked reflection and propelled the mirror into a distant corner of the decomposing bathroom with all of his self-loathing force. A wave of satisfaction thrummed through his body as he heard it come into contact with the decomposing surface with a _smash _and saw tiny twinkling shards erupt from the circular blue plastic case. With blood stained fingers he grasped hold of his (slightly too long) copper locks and yanked roughly in frustration. He doesn't want to do this anymore, _**he couldn't do this**__ anymore_. It was tearing him apart, he had taken countless of precious human lives in just less of a night, what damage would he do next time he succumbed to the toxic haze of his own insanity? He couldn't let this continue, Cry couldn't let himself to go on with his life knowing – and waiting for it to happen again.

Determinately, Cry let his fleeting puffy red-rimmed orbs to scan the decaying room around him. He mutely spotted the loose yellowing bathroom cabernet suspended above the mouldy cracked sink. With the last of his weakening strength in his aching limbs (and using the grot coated tiled wall for support), Cry uneasily stumbled across the small space between where he was previously leaning against the wall to the unwashed broken sink. He pointedly ignored the fractured reflected glass on the door of the unstable bathroom cabernet (the mirror had it coming okay!?) and prohibited himself from letting himself concentrate his emerald glare upon his own reflection.

The fractured door opened without any resistance and Cry hastily scanned for its contents: tooth brush, tooth paste, aftershave, cotton buds, his razor and sleeping pills. Swiftly, without a second thought, a pale slender crimson soaked hand -the blood had dried on his pale skin long before then, making it seep into and highlight the groves in the delicate pads of his fingertips, he acknowledged it with a slight grimace that pulled on the edge of his thin pale lips- roughly grabbed the little orange plastic bottle. However he paused his actions as the coloured container was an inch away from his thin cracked lips and shook his head dejectedly, making his copper locks whip around the congealed crimson mess on the paper white mask.

It was too easy; with the pills. To fall into an infinite dreamless sleep without doing much physical pain was too _easy_. If he had whipped those innocent souls from the face of the Earth, he had to make it as agonising and uncomfortable as possible. Plus, he wasn't sure if the toxin level in the sleeping pills where enough to off himself with anyway. It pretty much varied on age, body shape and already built up bodily resistance (with the thought of him taking them since his childhood to combat exam introduced insomnia and expelling nightmares (or is it memories?) that lingered with him in the dark he found it very unlikely that the harmful toxins will do much damage).

Cry let his red rimmed glazed eyes fall upon the grimy stained bath tub to his right side and once again shook his head in dissatisfaction. No, if he was going to do this properly, he would have to execute himself with as much blood spilled as possible to make up for the endless litres he had splattered across the cold rough concrete. It was to be an eye for an eye after all.

With that thought in his corrupted mind, the masked man turned once again to the crooked off-colour cabernet and grasped the razor from the rickety shelf with a wild ambition. Determination shone clearly in his bright green red puffy eyes as he slammed it with all of his amendable strength against the side of the yellowing damaged sink in front of him. The black plastic shattered under his strength and the echoed _chink _of the two freshly released blades falling to the bottom of the stained basin curled into his uncovered ears. They glinted almost innocently at him from the bottom of the basin, taunting him from the dark. Cry analysed them quickly with his swollen emerald eyes: they were newly sharpened (after being purchased and unpackaged the morning prior) and paper thin. Highly effective.

With a hard dry swallow from his parched throat and cracked lips, Cry slowly shifted the paper thin blade nearer to the pale throbbing skin of his left wrist before he paused suddenly. A slow bitter smirk twisted its way on the corner of his pale cracked lips until it was etched widely across his red tinted tear stained cheeks.

How had that rhyme go again? The one that was constantly being hurtled at him and hissed tauntingly in his ear the whole of his childhood along with the other abusive drunken slurs? Oh yes, he remembered.

_Down the road, not across the street; this is where the pathetic boys meet._

His pale crimson stained hand (had it got under his nails too?) trembled slightly as he finally pierced into the soft skin, a burst of pain blooming across his flesh. However he swiftly glided the glinting blade across the ashen flesh of his forearm all the way up to his elbow. The right one promptly followed after.

Sweat circled his pale veiled face and neck, he sluggishly slumped his lanky form against the decomposing bath tub with a slight raspy whimper. Thick warm crimson liquid oozed out of the two open wounds and had started to bloom a decorative pattern over the burning quivering flesh. It was almost beautiful, in a sense.

Gradually his eye lids grew heavy and they slowly began crawling to hide his blurry emerald vision. A high pitched ringing breached his ears and his head felt that it was too heavy to keep up on just his bony shoulders alone. His breathing came out as lazy uneven pants and he soon lost the warm feeling of movement to the biting cold numbness that crawled its way up his slumped body. He tilted his head up (leaning partly on the disgusting decomposing tiled wall behind him) and watched as the once white mouldy ceiling distorted to the rest of the cloudy muddled colours that flashed across his glazed over vision.

Eventually, his grip on reality blurred and warped into the creeping darkness. The distinctive click of the wobbly bathroom knob being turned was the last thing he registered as his cold pale body became limp and a black haze crawled over his eyes…

.

A cold harsh cackle erupted from out of the gloomy shadows of the landing as the icy unsympathetic cobalt orbs observed the slumped over limp corpse through their slits. With a slight tilt of the head, the corner of their lips twisted into a wide wicked smirk.

Excellent. It went ahead just as foretold.

The fifth victim to fall prey to The Virus.

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><p><strong>Fertig! (Finished in German…..Just go with it)<strong>

**Welcome to the page were I randomly ramble on and on about irrelevant things that makes absolutely no sense, because I am more than likely in writers block and have come down here to vent. **

**You are free to skip this bit, but if it amuses you, carry on! (I think I spent more time writing this than I did the actual story…It was very fun though)**

**Starting random tired slurs that I write at two o'clock in the morning in…**

**3…2..1.**

**GO!**

**Do you think that I have gone too far this time? It really does have me questioning my sanity and for the love of God, if I have gone overboard please take me away from my laptop! Every time I open a word document…..This… (I don't know what to even call it)…Always happens. **

**Another thing I also may need to think about is writing without using the Thesaurus on every other word. Plus not putting at least **_**five different describing words**_** in front of the object that I am trying to describe….. I'm sure that it gets annoying after a time. I try to make my writing seem mature however I don't think it has that effect. Meh. **

***Insert tired sigh here* **

**I just noticed that he doesn't say anything throughout the story, maybe I should change that later as well? **

***Insert tumble weed rolls by here***

…**.Err…Okay then…..**

***Insert cricket chirp here* **

**R…Right…**

** The funny thing is that I never actually start writing the stories that I plan, but I somehow just write a story that came out of thin air…What's wrong with me!?**

…**..Don't answer that, it will open a can of worms that I will have to get rid of later. **

**Also you would properly be surprised that I spent a couple of hours typing this atrocity spread out over about three or four days- because I'm lazy, have an addiction to YouTube and when Writers Block meets Queen Procrastination absolutely nothing gets done. **

**So, I think that is it! I guess I will be seeing you in my next soul wrenchingly depressing (and possibly illegal) adventure! **

***Insert over dramatic salute here* (When did this start to get annoying?)**

**Auf Wiedersehen! (Got to stop with the German….. -_- )**

**((Hehe, when you just scan read this afterword page you just see a bunch of ellipsis -_-)) **

**Any feedback?**


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